


Major's Changes

by nutmeg223



Series: Charles NOT in Charge [1]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Cp-45, Domestic Discipline, Gen, M/M, Surprisingly domestic casey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg223/pseuds/nutmeg223
Summary: When Chuck won't listen, Casey uses a backup plan.





	Major's Changes

**Casey's Apartment**

_late_

"...and Major, how are Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski doing with their cover?"

If there was one thing Casey loathed more than late-night briefings when he had to be at the BuyMore in only a few hours, it was late-night briefings before he had an early shift at the BuyMore where he had to discuss the kid and the skirt. It skated perilously close to things like talking about _emotions_ and other crap. But still, Beckman was the General, so he sucked it up and put it on his list. He'd have to remember to pinch Bartowski's shoulder a little harder than usual while dragging him off later.

"I was told that it was a delicate situation, ma'am." He reported, trying not to sneer. It was bad enough Bartowski had the manners of one of those cave trolls from those idiot games he liked, he didn't have to be rude to the General on top of it.

"Well, is it a successful cover?" Beckman's patience was wearing thin.

"Ma'am, the asset is currently unaware of which way is up. He's undisciplined, he's insubordinate, and he has yet to remember what 'Stay in the car' means. Agent Walker's previous relationship with Larkin isn't helping matters, although she can talk him through 'freaking out' in the field."

"Very well, Major. I'll keep that in mind. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Casey steeled himself. He'd been hoping this could be avoided, but the kid would not listen. He wasn't trained, so he got about two centimeters more latitude than most people Casey'd worked with, but he was still a dumbass kid who needed his ass kicked. Regularly. His sister had done her best, but she'd been a kid raising a kid.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to ask you to reassign the cover relationship to me. Walker can't make him behave, and isn't interested in it. I can handle him. I'm asking to enact CP-45."

Beckman's eyebrows shot up.

"That's an...unorthodox plan, Major. Will it work?"

"I believe so, ma'am. His file suggests that it will." Casey did his best not to wince. Was he seriously saddling himself with the kid?

"Then I'll make the reassignments in the morning. Be prepared to handle him. Is there anything else?"

"No ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Beckman ended the call and Casey finally allowed himself to sit. He found his center, pulled on his headphones, and prepared to listen to another night of Casa Bartowski.  


**Casey's Apartment**

_morning_

"What? Wait, what?" Chuck's voice broke as he tried to process what the General had just said.

"Mr. Bartowski, given your file, I didn't think this would be such an issue. Your cover relationship with Agent Walker is, frankly speaking, a trainwreck. You can't function as the Intersect if your emotions are constantly in an uproar. You will break up with Agent Walker, wait a few weeks, and then introduce Major Casey as your romantic interest. He will go over any other details with you."

Chuck gaped as Beckman ended the video link. He turned to Sarah.

"Sarah? What…?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck. General Beckman made her decision. I'll still be with you every step, but we'll just have to be friends, okay?"

It was NOT okay. How had….he hadn't even...he'd thought he was being _discreet_ ! He could feel a flush creeping up his cheeks. He shifted from foot to foot, but he couldn't come up with any way to convince Beckman that it was a bad idea. Casey would _kill_ him. He couldn't even be in the same room as the other man for more than two minutes without Casey growling at him. Hell, he couldn't even _breathe_ in the same room as Casey without the other man growling at him. And yeah, there'd been a few short-lived relationships with older men _similar_ to Casey, all stern and growling and big believers in discipline but…

He was startled out of his impending freak-out by Casey shoving his messenger bag into his arms before grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him out of the apartment. Wordlessly, he handed the keys to the Nerd Herder over to Casey; he didn't think he could drive, anyway. He was having enough trouble just breathing regularly.

"How...how is this going to _work_ ? You don't even _like_ me." Chuck wished he had a paper bag to breathe into. 

Casey repressed the urge to grit his teeth. He _hated_ these conversations.

"You're a moron who needs his ass kicked."

"That's...not reassuring."

"Now, I get to kick your ass when you're being a moron. You're undisciplined, you're mouthy, and you're disobedient, and now I get to work on that. I'll brief you on our relationship later, but from now on you can count on being called on your dumbass crap."

"And still not reassuring. I don't even know what that _means_."

Casey gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked.

"It means that there will be consequences when you're an idiot."

"What, like being stuck in a bunker? 'Cause that's not a new consequence there, buddy."

Casey snorted.

"No, moron, it means I kick your ass. It means that after you get done screwing around, you won't want to sit when I'm done with you." Casey parked the Herder neatly and headed into the store, leaving Chuck gaping after him, trying not to hyperventilate  


**Burbank Central Library**  


Chuck tucked himself into the Special Collections carrell he liked best and let his head fall into his hands. He had no idea what the hell he was going to do. And crap, Casey'd all but ordered him to "break up" with Sarah after work and then wait until his own shift was done. Instead, he'd managed to break up with Sarah and then hightailed it to the library. He could think here, where it was quiet and no one bothered him. He was beginning to think that maybe leaving his watch was a bad idea, too. He'd stopped at home to change, and it'd seemed like a good idea at the time - get some alone time to think things through. Process. He needed to process without the ever-present government supervision.

Crap.

Casey was...was probably going to kill him. They wouldn't have to worry anymore about the government secrets stuffed in his head, because Casey would end him. He'd taken his watch off, taken the bus...he probably seemed like he was making a run for it. He wanted to curl up in the chair and whimper, but the librarians (even the ones in Special Collections who pretty much let him do whatever since they all knew him) frowned on that. Casey was so going to kill him. He would be worm-food. Bonsai fertilizer. Or stuffed in a bunker with Ellie and Awesome and Morgan never knowing where he'd gone. He bit his lip, trying to get his whirling thoughts in order. It was like the ultimate grounding, bunker-time. Maybe it would be a nice one? Or maybe he'd get a second chance? He hadn't tried to run away after the Intersect downloaded into his head, so maybe he'd get some points for that? That and cooperating as best he could.

A big hand landed on his shoulder, and he just managed to stifle a yelp as it pinched. He looked up and back into the furious face of one Major John Casey.

"He...hey Casey," he whispered.

"Bartowski, you have two seconds to get your ass up before the librarians get a show." Casey hissed.

Oh yeah, he was dead. His legs seemed to work independently of his body, because he was up and out of the chair immediately, shoulders defensively up around his ears. Casey didn't even give him a chance to explain himself, just started marching him out. The humiliation of being escorted out of the library like a naughty child had him flushing.

"You ought to be embarrassed, kid." Casey whispered.

How he sounded that stern and pissed in a whisper would forever haunt Chuck.

"Hi there, everything all right here?" the fairly chirpy brunette librarian, the new one, popped out of the stacks. "Oh, Chuck, hon. Did you lose track of the time _again_?"

If he could just be struck down by lightning, that would be fine. Anything to end the humiliation by librarian.

"His sister had to come find him a couple of weeks ago," she continued, oblivious to Chuck's glare. "With all the gadgets everyone carries, you'd think they'd never forget the time."

Casey stared at her and answered with a non-committal "Hmm."

"And Major," she dropped her voice so only they could hear. "Not everyone here knows about your _special relationship_ with Chuck. Watch the manhandling or you'll have building security on your case. And probably the cops asking about domestic issues."

She went on her way with a smile, stopping only to inform a panicking scholar that a lack of preparation on his part did not constitute an emergency on hers, but she'd see what she could find for him.

Casey hauled a gaping Chuck out of the library via a death grip on his hand, and stuffed him into the passenger seat of the Crown Vic. He went so far as to buckle his asset in, slapping away Chuck's hands when the kid tried to take over.

"My _librarian_ is what, CIA? Is there no depth to which you people will stoop?" Chuck managed while Casey buckled himself in.

"NSA. And when it comes to your safety, no." Casey dropped Chuck's phone into his lap along with the watch. "Put the watch on, and listen to your messages."

Chuck buckled the watch on, swallowing nervously. Angry talking Casey was almost more scary than angry growling Casey. He thumbed through the increasingly irate text messages he'd accumulated while his phone had been on his dresser before he tapped in his voicemail password. Casey's angry voice filled the car.

"Kid, if your ass isn't where it's supposed to be in the next thirty seconds, I _will_ blister it!"

That was it. Just that one message. It was pretty much worse than all the messages he'd gotten that night with Lazlo combined. And he'd gotten the message two hours ago.

"I…" his voice broke. "I guess I missed my window?"

Casey growled.

Chuck shut up, hastily. He was so, so very dead.

"Your ass, Bartowski," Casey enunciated very clearly. "Is grass."

Chuck may or may not have made a noise in the vicinity of "Meep!". It was a very, very quiet ride back to Echo Park.

\-------

When they got back to the apartment complex, Chuck waited quietly while Casey parked. He kept his hands in his lap, not trusting them not to shake, as the older man rounded the front of the Vic and opened his door. Frigging child safety locks. He slunk out of the car and past the furious agent, hoping he could just go to his room and…

"My place, kid." Casey ordered.

Chuck sighed and turned in the direction of Casey's apartment. He couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that tightened his chest and made his stomach clench. He shifted on the doormat as Casey unlocked the door and ushered him in, resetting the alarm behind them. Casey took his messenger bag and set it by the door; Chuck resisted the urge to start backing up and babbling. It never did him any good, anyway. He faced Casey and swallowed down nerves.

"Call your sister. Tell her you're helping me install some electronic crap and that you're staying over here tonight." Casey ordered.

"Umm…" Chuck hedged, fiddling with his phone. He wasn't sure it was safe to be around Casey in the mood the man was in.

"Christ." Casey muttered. "We need to discuss the cover and the asset/handler relationship going forward."

He looked actively pained at the thought of the impending discussion.

Chuck finally did as he was told. Casey waited for a moment before he turned toward the kitchen, trying to figure out dinner. As far as he'd seen, Chuck was not a picky eater. As far as the kid's file went, he ate way too much processed crap while gaming. It was only by the grace of his sister and her idiot boyfriend that he wasn't suffering from malnutrition. He kept half an ear on Chuck while he decided on pasta. He needed most of his attention for the talk they needed to have, and he could mostly neglect a pot of boiling water.

The kid still needed someone to keep an eye on his diet and his sleep schedule...and Christ, he was going soft. A couple of months listening to the pipeline from Whoville that was the Bartowskis and he was going soft. He'd be a frigging useless marshmallow in a couple of weeks, one who thought everything was 'awesome'. Hell, he'd just have to put it down to keeping the Intersect alive. The Intersect couldn't be alive and well if it was sleep-deprived and malnourished because it didn't know how to take care of itself. As Chuck wandered back into the kitchen to end his call, Casey set a three-inch binder labeled CP-45 on the table.

"Sit down and read through this," he ordered. "It goes over our cover, and it'll give you an idea of how the asset/handler relationship will work."

Chuck shifted on his feet, clearly nervous.

"I don't see your ass planted in that chair, Bartowski. Sit."

The tone always got to him. Chuck sat, quickly, and flipped the binder open. It was ridiculously well-organized, and the tab labels were making him nervous. The one marked 'Cover' was okay, but he rifled through them and saw 'Rules' and 'Discipline'. He couldn't help but squirm a little as he read through the Cover section, thinking that one was the safest place to start.

"You saved me from being run over by a pedi-cab on the pier?" he asked a few minutes later. "Seriously?"

"I didn't write it. Some numbnuts in D.C. thought that was a good idea."

"Maybe they should stick to rom-coms." Chuck winced at some of the details. Did everyone know what he thought of Casey?

Casey didn't need to read over his shoulder to know which section he was on.

"We can ignore the stupid crap."

"That's good, because I'm not this...this forward!" Chuck objected. "And I would never cheat on someone."

"Good." Casey put a pot of water on to boil. "You even think about it, and you'll never sit comfortable again."

"See, now, buddy, that is NOT part of a modern, egalitarian fake relationship!" Chuck poked a the binder.

"I seem like a 'modern egalitarian relationship' man, Bartowski? Any of the men you've dated ever seem like that?"

Chuck scowled down at his hands, because no. Even Bryce had kind of treated him like he was...not the girl, because that was totally anti-feminist, but like he was the non-dominant partner. Bryce had even patted his head once and told him not to worry.

"I'm an adult!" he protested.

"Yeah, one who eats crap, plays video games constantly, and can't mind simple instructions like 'Stay in the car'. I've met toddlers who follow orders better than you." Casey checked out the fridge to see what he had for salads.

"Hey!" except put that way, it sounded like he maybe needed a keeper.

Casey hooked Chuck's chair out from the table and dropped into a crouch in front of him. Christ, but he hated this crap. He could practically feel the hives coming up.

"Look, kid, this isn't forever." He tapped the open binder. "This is when you need the most supervision, need me riding herd on you. The rules in here will change when you're ready."

"But there'll always be these kinds of rules?" Chuck winced at the sulkiness in his tone. "While you're my handler?"

"You going to tell me you don't need them?"

Chuck huffed, avoiding Casey's eyes.

"Thought so." Casey stood up again. "We'll make this easy: you break the rules, you suffer the consequences. I decide what those are."

It sounded simultaneously incredibly safe and completely terrifying. Chuck shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to acknowledge that.

"Okay, stand up, kid."

Chuck looked up, surprised. Casey didn't say anything else, just snagged him by the wrist and tugged, bending him under an arm and snugged close to his hip. Chuck squealed at the sudden change in position, and again when Casey's palm landed in a thunderous swat against his backside.

"You do NOT take off your watch." He landed a smack with every word. "You do NOT leave your phone. You do NOT leave us unable to find you quickly."

As quickly as he'd been bent over, Chuck found himself righted, still held by his wrist. His butt smarted fiercely under his black trousers and his eyes watered with the sting.

"You get off easy this time, kid. You pull this kind of stunt again, and you'll be over my knee, bare, and we'll see how much you like a hairbrush." Casey scolded.

"Easy? That was supposed to be easy?" Chuck's voice broke a little. "I...this...you…"

Casey took a deep breath. He wasn't good at the emotional crap, but he was going to have to sack up and deal with the giant over-exposed emotion that was his asset. And he'd let the fact that he was pissed with the kid dictate his actions.

"You deserved every smack you just got, and probably a lot more. I was...worried. You don't go off-grid, ever. You got me?" He covered the admission with a further scold.

"I got it," Chuck murmured. "No going off-grid."

"Good. Sit."

Chuck's body obeyed the tone, dropping him back into his recently-vacated chair. He winced a little at the hard wood against his stinging ass.

"So now what," Chuck couldn't quite believe the argumentative tone he was taking. "You drop on me like a ton of bricks for everything?"

"Pretty much." Casey ignored his piss-poor attitude and set a notebook and a couple of pens next to him. "Get the rules out and copy them over until dinner."

"What?" Chuck gaped.

"You heard me. Get busy." Casey turned away from the table, leaving Chuck spluttering in outrage. "I don't hear writing."

He listened, waiting until Chuck started writing. The kid bitched and grumbled, but he did as he was told. Satisfied, Casey pulled a container of sauce out of the freezer and yanked a bunch of salad stuff out of the fridge.

"You hit me." Chuck's quiet accusation didn't startle him. He'd figured the kid was stewing.  

"I gave you a couple dozen well-deserved swats." Casey corrected. "If I'd hit you, you'd know it."

"Same thing," Chuck gritted out. "I don't...I don't like it."

"If I thought you liked it, I wouldn't do it." Casey left off the 'numbnuts'. Well, eventually he'd do it if Chuck liked it, but that was a discussion for another day. "It was a reminder to get your head out of your ass."

He was finding his in with the kid. Chuck needed stern mixed with some understanding and some gentle. He'd done understanding and gentle with other marks; he could do it with Chuck. He had to do it with Chuck, if he wanted to keep the kid living, and not in a bunker somewhere.

"I'm entitled to a freak-out!" Chuck huffed, dropping the pen and crossing his arms. "My life has been, yet again I might add, turned upside down! I think that gets me a couple hours of private downtime to figure it out!"

"And all you had to do was tell me you needed a couple hours." Casey pointed out. "I didn't say you could stop with your lines."

"I don't want to." Chuck sulked. "And I don't want you to do that again. I'm not a kid."

Casey snorted.

"Like I'd do that to a kid," he muttered. "You don't want to be spanked, then you behave yourself. Keep writing, Bartowski."

Chuck gaped at him.

"You are so unreasonable!"

"It's part of my charm.You heard me, Bartowski, get writing again. You got three warnings; that's two more than you'll usually get." Casey pointed a wooden spoon at him.

Chuck's gape turned into a glare. And they were back on the Bartowski emotional express. Casey suppressed the urge to groan; he really didn't want to spank the kid. Again. Although he hardly classified jack-knifed over a hip as a spanking.

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" he shoved back his chair and stood to face Casey.

"I think," Casey started, his voice dangerously low. "I'm the guy keeping your skinny ass safe. That includes making sure you do what you're supposed to, and dealing with you when you don't. You need to be called on your shit, Bartowski, and the US Government gave me that job. And unless you want to know what it feels like to be paddled bare, I'd suggest you sit your skinny ass down and do as you were told."

It was probably more at one time than he'd said to the kid in the months since he'd become his handler, and it worked. Chuck backed down, and, a little shamefaced, grabbed his chair. He sat down again and started writing, head bent low over the notebook. Casey took a little pity on him and pressed a hand down on his shoulder, rubbed a little.

"It'll get easier, kid. Memorize the rules, and you'll do fine. We'll be fine."

Slowly, as he wrote, Chuck's shoulders relaxed from their defensive hunch. Casey got on with dinner, figuring that the kid would be easier to handle without crashing blood sugar. Walker had mentioned that he got crabby when he was hungry. And anyway, he was a Marine. He would make it work.

 

Although he knew Waziristan was nice this time of year...

 


End file.
